


peter's guide to becoming a priority (ft. a rock)

by finnickyfox



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Scent Marking, allydia + stiles brotp, canon is briefly referenced, courting, now with a bonus chapter of sappiness, stealth courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25234909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finnickyfox/pseuds/finnickyfox
Summary: It’s not that Stiles hasn’t noticed. He has. It’s just in the grand scheme of things Stiles can’t be bothered. He has two—maybe three—fucks to give about life and he’s not wasting one on Peter Hale running his hands over everything in Stiles’ apartment.
Relationships: Allison Argent & Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski, Allison Argent/Lydia Martin, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 87
Kudos: 1204





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I meant for this to be a short tumblr drabble but it got way long. It's silly and I'm a little nervous to be posting this unhinged steter on ao3 but I hope you like it!

It’s not that Stiles hasn’t noticed. He has. It’s just in the grand scheme of things Stiles can’t be bothered. He has two— _maybe_ three—fucks to give about life and he’s not wasting one on Peter Hale running his hands over everything in Stiles’ apartment.

Stiles is aware, thank you very much, that Peter is scent-marking precisely at the time Stiles is busiest. Peter _knows_ Stiles, knows his lack of fucks, knows he’ll get away with being a little possessive shit.

Peter’s slowly moving up on Stiles’ list of things to deal with. It hasn’t evolved into a Priority but it is a problem, not a capitalized one.

Yet.

— 

Stiles’ most recent ex texts him for a booty call. Stiles screenshots and sends it to the wives group chat. Allison calls him immediately. 

“Knife or gun?”

“As a present for me? I’d rather have a gift card for Cheesecake Factory.”

“Obviously. I already got you that. For once I’m not the one putting a warning label on the wrapping paper.”

“But someone else is? Wait, don’t tell me, no birthday spoilers this year!”

Allison makes that little huffy sound she totally picked up from Lydia. “You’re not upset about the text?”

“What? Fuck no, it was funny and...” Stiles trails off, his thoughts screeching to a stop and going full speed in a different direction. 

The edge returns in Allison’s voice. “Knife or gun?”

“Not yet,” Stiles says slowly. “But wolfsbane bullets.”

“Your ex isn’t a werewolf.”

“No.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Nope!”

Allison huffs Lydia-style and hangs up. Stiles scrolls through his contacts, hovering over **Pettigrew _._** His lips twitch up despite the situation. Stiles will always laugh over how that contact name genuinely annoys the shit out of Peter. 

Stiles’ finger hovers for a moment, tempted to call Peter. 

Allison thought Stiles needed a rant or cry over his ex. Stiles didn’t because he’s _just_ tipped over to the point where he doesn’t care anymore and has moved on.

What a convenient time for Peter to start staking claim to Stiles’ home.

Stiles bumps this up to a Problem. Still, it’s not worth his energy to confront Peter’s weird seduction. Plus, he has Ally to deal with it if he wants.

— 

Stiles gets up in the middle of the night to pee and it hits him—birthday.

His birthday is the only time of year Stiles accepts Peter giving him an extravagant gift with no protesting.

So, Stiles is busy, over his ex, _and_ his birthday is coming up?

Ugh. Okay, it’s a priority. But only a small one.

—

“No.”

“No?”

Stiles aggressively jabs Peter’s chest. With practiced ease, Peter wraps his hand loosely around Stiles’ wrist to drain the minor pain of what basically feels like slamming his finger into a brick wall.

“No,” Stiles repeats. “You only refer your clients to me when it’s a shitty case, because then I whine at you and you make it up to me by cooking all my meals until I’ve closed the case.”

“Of course,” Peter says. This is an unspoken ritual they’ve had since Stiles started up his detective-slash-hitman supernatural business. 

Peter does lawyer work for supernatural cases that spark vicious glee in his eyes. Currently, his blue eyes are less vindictive and more smug.

Too bad for him and his stupid smug eyes because Stiles isn’t falling for this! Peter happens to have shitty clients right as Stiles’ workload is dying down? Stiles sees right through his strategic moves and is cutting off any further advances.

“Nope,” Stiles says, plastering on a cheery smile.

“Very well. Tell me if you change your mind.”

Wait, _what?_

Stiles never changes his mind. Not on his own. Peter has to work to make Stiles change his mind and vice versa. It’s one of their things, their games, to see who breaks first. Stiles was ready to break Peter but he’s...forfeiting? He even said _if_ , not _when_. 

A smug smile joins the smug eyes at Stiles’ gaping.

The barista calls Stiles’ name, reminding him that they’re at their favorite cafe that’s sadly non-supernatural. No petty zapping magic allowed. Stiles moves to pick up his drink and finds himself tugged back in place.

Stiles hadn’t torn his wrist out of Peter’s gentle hold after the quick pain-drain.

Peter lets go and nudges Stiles toward the counter before he can fully absorb Peter’s characteristic but unwarranted smugness.

— 

Stiles changes Peter’s contact name for the first time since he decided Peter was more than a string of numbers. That was six years ago, four years after he swiped Peter’s phone number from Derek.

Ten years. Ten years! He’s had Peter’s number for ten years and not once—not once!—in all of Peter’s astounding amounts of fuckery has Stiles ever programmed him as a Priority. 

And ten years ago Peter had fucking raised himself from the dead! And did so via traumatizing Lydia! In all of that, Stiles never considered him high enough on his list to be a priority!

Times. Have. Changed.

For the third night in a row, Stiles has dreamed of Peter’s special stir fry. All week he’s felt odd. He’s texting Peter the usual amount, he saw him for their weekly coffee, so why does he miss him?

Suspicious, Stiles checked his work calendar for the past year. And then the year before that. He went all the way back to the first case Peter handed him. Over six years, Peter has been slowly handing over more cases. The last two years have been a steady clockwork of every five weeks. 

Peter’s fucking trained Stiles to subconsciously expect a week of Peter hanging around all day and feeding him. It’s so ingrained in his mind that he’s dreaming about it! What the fuck!

The worst part? Stiles never would have caught on if he hadn’t turned down the shitty case at the coffee shop. Smuggy smug bastard with reverse psychology, making Stiles think he won.

_Tell me if you change your mind._

The complexity of this long game manipulation is stupidly hot. Like. Really, really hot. Extremely. Fuck.

Stiles puts siren emojis on both sides of Priority.

— 

**From 🚨Priority🚨:**

_I recall a drunk promise of ‘no snooping’ this year_

See, to **Pettigrew** , Stiles would've shot out a series of rapid texts demanding to know what’s up. With **🚨Priority🚨** , he remembers to hesitate. He settles for simple.

**To 🚨Priority🚨:**

ya

**From 🚨Priority🚨:**

_Your dear jock wife has reserved a table at the one (1) upscale restaurant you like_

_On an unrelated note, the downtown movie theater is re-releasing Venom at the same time as the reservations_

Again, with a Priority status, Stiles is keenly aware that Peter knowing him so well is not something to celebrate right now. He switches into the wives chat.

**To 🙌 Lydia’s Jock Wives 💪:**

VENOM

BIRTHDAY

FUCK RESTRONT RES

!!!!!!!

AT THEATER W WEIRD BATHROOM

**From Queen Apeshit 🏹:**

_this stinks of peter_

_gdammit he HELPED me get those reservations!! wtf_

**To 🙌 Lydia’s Jock Wives 💪:**

monsterfucker movie!!!!! PLEASE

**From Queen Apeshit 🏹:**

_duh ofc_

_canceling now_

_lyds says text ur werewolf that he has to make dinner for being a bitch_

Stiles spins in his desk chair, grinning. Hell yes, an excuse for Peter to cook.

**From King of Math Gays💋:**

_Nvm I’m texting him so he’ll bring dessert_

_Also, stop changing the group name FFS_

_Just because you played lax does NOT make you a jock Stiles!!_

**_King of Math Gays💋 named the conversation “Lydia’s Monsterfucker Wives”_ **

**To Lydia’s Monsterfucker Wives:**

u say that as if ur not a monsterfucker

**From King of Math Gays💋:**

💅

**From Queen Apeshit 🏹:**

_rip jock stiles_

**From King of Math Gays💋:**

_There was never a jock Stiles to kill. No rip_

Stiles sends 🥺🥺🥺 and returns to his text chain with Peter.

**To 🚨Priority🚨:**

no more spoilers

**From 🚨Priority🚨:**

_Yes, Lydia texted me_

_I’m assuming you’ll want to hang out with your wives beforehand?_

Stiles pauses. When had Ally and Lyds absorbed Peter into their group? Sure, they didn’t have a chat with the four of them, but he’s part of the planning committee and Lydia texts him. Stiles is stupidly fond of Peter casually referring to them as his wives. Past partners always found that weird.

**To🚨Priority🚨:**

ya thx

Stiles should leave it at that. Simple. Concise. No quadruple texts in a row. He stares at the sirens and capital P.

Fuck it, they should get brunch. No, don’t fuck it! Well. Half-fuck it?

**To 🚨Priority🚨:**

coffee fri morn? then meet at movie 

**From 🚨Priority🚨:**

_Sounds perfect, sweetheart_

_Text me when you wake up and I’ll meet you there_

Stiles groans. 

— 

Peter has Stiles’ drink waiting for him outside the shop, somehow having convinced the barista to pour an obscene amount of whipped cream on it. There’s too much for there to be a lid so Stiles busies himself slurping it down. Peter takes the distraction to pin a giant **BIRTHDAY BOY!** button on Stiles’ flannel. 

Stiles adores it. He keeps touching it the entire time he hangs out with Lydia and Allison, only noticing the habit because Lydia swats his hand away.

Watching Venom in theaters again is amazing. Stiles sits between Lydia and Allison with Peter on Lydia’s other side. The two of them roll their eyes at Stiles and Allison’s geeking out over the romcom. Half-way through, Stiles finishes his popcorn and Lydia elbows him to show Peter handing over Red Vines.

Stiles nearly cries over dinner back at his place, finally getting the Peter cooking he deserves. He’s pretty sure he’s bursting with happy chemosignals because Peter looks far too satisfied. They all drink wine and chill in Stiles’ living space, talking and laughing and half-heartedly playing a game of Go Fish. 

Allison gives him his gift card, no weapons this year other than a hand-made coupon for _One Free No Qs Asked Murder_. Lydia has the warning label present, a carefully wrapped vial of a very rare and very illegal potion. She also makes a coupon to match Allison’s with _One Free Secret Keeper (Including From Ally) Of The Murder_. 

Stiles cries and almost breaks the vial. They give him hugs and kisses and retire to his guest bedroom. 

Peter stays up to continue their familiar and well-loved argument over Bigfoot. Stiles pulls up a video he’s been saving for months of Bigfoot Spotted footage. He pretends not to notice the tiny glitch at the end that proves it’s faked, holding back his laughter as Peter replays the video again and again, increasingly distressed, to point it out to Stiles.

Lydia yells at them to shut up. 

“That’s my cue to leave,” Peter says.

Stiles bites his lip, tempted to tell Peter to stay. They’ve slept in the same bed before, including in sexually charged periods when Stiles was single, but the invitation feels different now. Peter’s a Priority. This isn’t flirting. This is serious, strategic.

“You didn’t give me my present,” Stiles says.

“So greedy,” Peter tsks. “I bought your drink, your button, Red Vines, made you dinner and dessert, indulged you in your infuriating Bigfoot theories—”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s your day to spoil me, whatever. None of that was your big gift.”

Peter hums a non-response, standing up. He shrugs on his peacoat, the dark blue one that makes Stiles want to cuddle up in front of a fire and hold hands and do soft domestic shit. Offering his hand out, Peter says, “You’re very confident about a fancy present, sweetheart.”

Stiles accepts the help. Peter holds his hand for a prolonged moment before pulling Stiles up to stand a few inches apart. Stiles should put a stop to this. Instead, he admits, “I changed your contact name.”

“Really?” Peter’s flirty smile morphs into delight, borderline giddy.

Stiles steps back, grateful to create space between them, and finds his phone under a couch pillow. Unlocking it, he opens up their recent texts and hands his phone over.

Peter doesn’t laugh or smirk. 

He stares down at Stiles’ phone until the screen goes dark, his expression soft in the way Stiles imagines his must be when he looks at Peter wearing that peacoat. Peter places the phone on the coffee table and rummages through his pocket, pulling out a tiny little box with a red bow.

The past three weeks of building tension over what grand gift is coming and it fits in the palm of Stiles’ hand? Peter gives Stiles things like a laptop or a suitcase for a trip to Europe. One year he bought a king-sized mattress and bed frame. 

What the hell fits in a little box? A diamond?

“You have to pull the bow off to open it,” Peter murmurs after Stiles inspects it for a long minute.

Stiles huffs Lydia-style and rolls his eyes. He delicately undoes the bow, tucking the ribbon into his flannel pocket, the one still boasting the birthday button. He opens the box, revealing—

“A rock?” 

“Happy birthday, Stiles,” Peter says, stepping forward to kiss Stiles’ cheek, boldly close to the corner of Stiles’ mouth. “Tell me if you changed your mind.”

— 

It’s been a week since The Rock. Stiles has done everything to check it for magical properties. It’s nothing more than an ordinary triangular-shaped grey-black rock.

He’s seen Peter a few times since The Rock and Peter’s acting no different, hasn’t had any _sike! here’s your real gif_ t moment. Stiles refuses to ask.

“What the fuck is this?” Stiles begs. 

Lydia drinks her tea. She lost all sympathy once he refused to let her touch his rock. “You have no rock inside joke?”

Stiles glares. 

Lydia raises her eyebrows. “Anniversary?”

“I checked. It’s eleven years since we met him in his alpha rampage, which is steel. If he’s counting by when we became friends-ish six years ago that’s candy or iron. Any other anniversary symbols don’t mention rocks.”

“Wow. I expected you’d look into that but I hoped you weren’t this desperate.”

Stiles shrugs. He rubs his thumb over the rock’s dulled corner. “It’s probably something obscure.”

“He could be saying he’s rock hard for you.”

Stiles plops down next to Lydia, knocking shoulders with her. “Hilarious. Are you possessed by me from high school?”

“Your jokes are still that bad. High school you wouldn’t have thought it was a joke, though. Peter was disturbingly focused on you after his,” Lydia wrinkles her nose, “resurrection.”

Stiles tosses his rock back and forth in his hands. He shifts from that traumatic subject by asking, “Remember when you created a mountain ash pepper spray and threatened him with it?”

“Shame I never got a chance. It’s unfortunate that I like him too much now to use it.” Lydia sets her tea down, twisting to face Stiles with a growing smile, successfully distracted. She teases, “Remember when you threw that huge tantrum after you started working on your Spark?”

“He stalked me into the preserve when I was trying to practice,” Stiles defends, cheeks coloring. News of his “tantrum” spread quickly through the supernaturals in Beacon Hills. “Like yeah, he was super hot and I had a lot of fantastic dreams thanks to his looks but I was seventeen, dude. He’s like a rest-of-your-life deal. I wasn’t missing out on college years of experimenting.”

“Wait. Seventeen,” Lydia says. “Twenty-seven.”

“Tenth anniversary is tin or aluminum.”

Lydia smacks Stiles’ chest. “No, you idiot. What was that stupid phrase you used to say? You thought it was really clever but it was just morbid.”

“Everything I say is clever,” Stiles reflexively says. Then he thinks. “Oh, yeah—‘that will happen when I live another decade’. Because I literally could make pigs fly and probably freeze hell over so I needed something new. Shit, that was funny! I totally thought we’d die before we graduated.”

“Oh my god, stop laughing,” Lydia smacks Stiles, “I’m cracking your fucking case. All the werewolves heard you yelling across town and you blew up part of the forest. Isn’t that when you came up with the phrase?”

“Maybe? I was more focused on controlling my magic from exploding to pay attention to what I said.” Wait, blowing up the forest... “I think I threw a rock at him.” Stiles bolts off the couch. “Like, my magic went crazy but I was so petty that I picked up a rock and threw it at him!” 

Stiles closes his eyes, forming a tight fist around his rock. He mimes throwing it, trying to pull up the angst of being a teenager always on the brink of death and the hurt rage that Peter’s interest in him was all about his growing power. 

Peter had watched Stiles’ fit with amusement, spurring on Stiles’ anger. The rock had missed him by a wide margin, disappearing into a crater Stiles accidentally created.

_I’d never be with you, not even if I live another decade!_

Stiles’ eyes fly open.

“I texted Ally,” Lydia says. “She says you have her blessing and wolfsbane bullets, whichever you need. I never thought I’d say this but if pigs can fly and we haven’t died, well.” Lydia huffs. “I support you in...this.”

Stiles flaps his arm at her, knowing she understands the enormous love and gratitude it conveys. His heart pounds too hard to speak. He needs to find Peter.

_Tell me if you changed your mind._

— 

Peter’s front door is open, having probably heard Stiles’ heartbeat getting closer from miles away, not needing to wait for Stiles’ scent to reach him. Stiles grumbles, stomping his way inside. He’d wanted to bang on the door.

“Peter Hale!”

“In the kitchen, sweetheart,” Peter calls. “Have a good day at work, honey?”

Stiles does a poor attempt at growling at the teasing. He shuts the door and stomps into Peter’s spacious kitchen. Peter sports that amused expression, though fonder and less condescending than it had been that day in the preserve. He’s wearing an apron and there’s a streak of chocolate on his cheek. It’s distracting and extra unfair because he’s shaved his stubble into that hint of what Stiles lovingly named hot villain goatee.

“You sound like you’re having a heart attack.” Peter frowns, stepping away from his mixing bowl. His eyes flicker to the rock Stiles clutches. Tensing minutely, he asks, “Here to throw it at me again?”

“You deserved it.”

Peter tilts his head. “Yes, I did.” He takes a step forward. “A lot can change in ten years.”

“Is this the same rock?” At Peter’s nod, Stiles takes a tiny step into the kitchen. “That’s really sappy.” 

Stiles shook off Peter’s advances when they reconnected six years ago, having moved to the same city. They’ve danced around each other but Stiles never crossed that line to meet Peter, never feeling one-hundred percent confident. Peter’s had Stiles’ heart for a while now, he always will, but is Stiles finally ready to hand over his forever, to give every bit of himself along with his heart? Is this what he wants? 

Stiles stalls, saying, “Like, you’re embarrassingly romantic.”

“And bold,” Peter says.

Righteous anger sparks and Stiles finds solid ground, his shaky voice disappearing. He marches forward the several steps between them and jabs Peter in the chest. “That was stupidly bold of you to think we’d end up together! Cocky and arrogant and presumptuous and—”

“Hopeful,” Peter cuts him off, lightly squeezing Stiles’ wrist from the pain-draining hold that Stiles never tore away from.

Stiles stutters. His heart, too, if Peter’s eyes lowering to Stiles’ chest means something. Electric blue flickers around the ring of his irises when he meets Stiles’ gaze again. 

“What if I say not for another decade?”

Easily, without missing a beat, Peter answers, “I’ll make sure we’re both alive for ten more years and ask again.”

Stiles takes a deep breath. He only has one thing left to say. “There’s a spider on your counter.”

Peter twists to look. Stiles has a split second before Peter realizes the spider was a lie. He uses his magic to toss the rock safely on top of the fridge and fumbles into Peter’s space. He grabs Peter’s shoulders to steady himself and licks the streak of chocolate off his cheek.

Peter’s body goes rigid. Stiles leans back, not releasing his hold, to see the slip of fang he knows is there. Peter’s breathing is carefully controlled, nothing like the quick movement of Stiles’ rising and falling chest.

“This is a yes, you know,” Stiles says. “I’ve changed my mind. Feel free to touch me as inappropriately as you have with my apart—”

Peter kisses Stiles. Their teeth clack together from Stiles being mid-sentence. It stays messy as they stumble backward and to the side, Peter intent on pressing Stiles into the counter, no chance of escape. 

It is not smooth or sexy or anything close to a good kiss.

Stiles loves it. If their first kiss is going to be this desperate mess then Stiles deserves to clumsily get on the counter. Peter’s on his wavelength, helping him up, smiling against Stiles’ lips. 

Wrapping his legs around Peter’s waist, Stiles cups Peter’s cheek and they finally find a matching rhythm. Like everything about them, the kiss goes from negative numbers to one hundred, no in-between, and Stiles’ brain blue-screens at the best kiss of his life.

Peter’s hands have miraculously found their away under all Stiles’ layers, warm and heavy on his bare stomach, and he’s sucking on Stiles’ tongue when the kitchen lights explode. Peter pinches his side, not breaking the kiss, and something in the living room shatters. 

Peter sighs heavily against Stiles’ mouth. 

“Don’t even front,” Stiles pulls back, “you’re totally smug that you made me lose control like that.”

Peter nips Stiles’ lower lip. “Of course,” he agrees, practically preening. He adds, “I’d prefer we continue this at your place.”

“You asshole, I have things I don’t want to break, too!”

“Hotel?”

“Date first.” Stiles kisses Peter’s forehead, his cheeks, his chin. “I’m not that easy.”

Peter laughs a soft wonderful breathy sound. “Sweetheart, you’re anything but easy.”

Running his hands through Peter’s hair, eyes locked on the rock above the fridge, Stiles quietly asks, “Worth it?”

Peter extracts his hands from under Stiles’ shirt. He takes hold of Stiles’ right arm, the one he always uses for jabbing Peter, and lowers it. He presses his lips to Stiles’ inner wrist. “There’s no one else I would’ve waited for.”

Stiles shivers at the scrape of fangs. “You’re worth my forever, too.”

Peter’s other hand grips the counter hard enough that it cracks. 

— 

**From Dwayne Johnson💘:**

_Please tell me I’m not Pettigrew again_

**To Dwayne Johnson💘:**

no u r not my sweet non-priority❤️❤️😈

i have a v v v important q i forgot to ask

**From Dwayne Johnson💘:**

_I’m sighing. What?_

**To Dwayne Johnson💘:**

Have any shitty clients?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was VERY tempted to just title the Dwayne Johnson
> 
> thank you for reading!! you can reblog this post [here](https://transtilinski.tumblr.com/post/623494981633572864/peters-guide-to-becoming-a-priority-ft-a-rock) on my tumblr <3


	2. bonus: Stiles' Guide on Being Sneaky With Sappiness (ft. a ring)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to respond to an anon with a tiny bonus scene but this happened...thought I might as well put it here because they are so grossly sappy it's rotting my computer

“Hey, want to see something disgustingly sappy I just created?”

“I’m curious and also terrified.”

Stiles rolls his wrist, sending the book in Peter’s hands flying to land on their coffee table. He slings himself into Peter’s lap, his ass comfortably cushioned on Peter’s amazing thighs and his legs thrown over one side of the armchair while his back leans against the other side.

Peter slides an arm around Stiles’ back, gripping his flank to tug him closer. He raises his eyebrows. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Stiles says. He throws an arm around Peter’s shoulders, dragging himself the extra bit closer. He leans his head against Peter’s collarbone, humming in content when Peter noses along his hair, scenting him.

“Are you going to show me or am I going to have to tease it out of you?”

Stiles likes the second option. Sadly, he pushes that off for afterward—honestly, the sacrifices he makes for Peter. “I made a ring.”

“You made a ring.”

“Yes, I just said that.”

Peter pinches Stiles for the sass. His claws slide out so Stiles feels the sting of it through his shirt. “Just checking, sweetheart.”

“Don’t pinch me! You know my body’s conditioned to think that means sexy times.”

“It’s not my fault you’re such a brat during sex.”

“I wouldn’t be brat if you weren’t so annoying.”

“I thought you were supposed to be sappy.”

“Oh, right. So. Ring.”

“Ring,” Peter repeats, amusement curling in his voice.

Stiles turns his head into Peter’s neck, grinning. He loves being with Peter so much it’s dumb. A low rumble builds in Peter’s chest, shaking Stiles.

“Sweetheart,” Peter warns.

“Yeah, sorry. Focus. Okay.” Stiles lifts the hand hanging limply across Peter’s—amazing—thighs. He uncurls his fist, revealing a simple black ring. “I got really depressed on my last mission because I sort of really like you.”

They’ve already talked about this and agreed that Peter is now officially on the hitman side of Stiles’ work, coming along to help or at least be at the hotel for cuddling.

“You like me?”

“I know, right? It’s almost like you’re this amazing boyfriend and I’m in love with you or something. Weird.”

“I think maybe I like you, too.”

“You might want to get that checked out. Sounds like a disease.”

“Oh, it is. It’s far too late for me. Can’t be cured, unfortunately.”

Stiles laughs and stretches his neck up to nuzzle his forehead against the edge of Peter’s jaw. “I know you’re coming with me from now on, but I don’t know. I was thinking—”

“Oh, no.”

“Shut up,” Stiles says and bites Peter’s jaw none too gently. He ignores Peter’s pleased rumble-growl. “So, thinking. We’re not always together. Sometimes you take forever grocery shopping.”

“You can come with me.”

“But it’s so boring,” Stiles whines, gearing up for this usual argument.

“The ring, Stiles,” Peter reminds him, fondly exasperated. “The ring.”

“I’m building up to it! But fine, if you’re so impatient,” Stiles takes Peter’s free arm and slides the ring onto the finger next to his pinky, “there you go.” Quickly, Stiles kisses the finger next to the pinky on his own hand and then hides his face back in Peter’s neck.

“Stiles.”

Stiles mumbles a nonsensical sound into Peter’s skin.

“You made me a ring.”

Stiles mumbles into Peter’s skin.

“That turns warm and buzzes when you kiss your finger.”

Stiles grumbles. Peter huffs, amused and alarmingly Lydia-like, and manhandles Stiles against his protests.

“Nooo,” Stiles whines. He ends up with his knees bracketing Peter’s amazing thighs, straddling Peter so they’re face to face. Peter grips Stiles’ hips, keeping him firmly in place. With no other options, Stiles tips his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“Stiles.”

“No.”

“Sweetheart.”

Stiles’ already flushed cheeks burn hotter. Peter loves when Stiles gets embarrassed. It’s a new thing they discovered once they became a couple, much to Peter’s delight and Stiles’ horror. His embarrassment is embarrassing.

One hand releases Stiles’ hip and Stiles uses the chance to try and wiggle-escape. Peter’s too fast and—fuck, he’s too smart. Ugh, Peter is the _worst_. Stiles hates him.

Peter had kissed the ring before returning his hand to Stiles’ hip.

Stiles is a tomato. It’s not attractive at all, not that it matters to Peter. Tomato!Stiles might be higher than sex on Peter’s list of things he loves about them being officially together.

“Stiles,” Peter purrs.

Stiles finally looks Peter in the eye, glaring at him. “Shut up.”

Peter drops his fangs to sharpen his already deadly grin.

“Shut _up_.”

Peter’s fangs recede and he asks, “What happens when I kiss my ring?”

Stiles squirms but Peter doesn’t give him any room to budge. Glowering, he says, “You know.”

Peter hums, tilting his head in fake confusion. “Do I?”

“You kissed your ring! You know, asshole.”

“Oh, so it works the same, then. You kiss your finger and my rings buzzes. I kiss my ring and,” Peter raises his eyebrows, “you feel my lips on your finger?”

Stiles covers Peter’s dumb face with its poorly hidden smugness. He pushes Peter’s eyebrows down from their judgey height. Stiles tries pressing the corners of his smile down but Peter just nips at Stiles’ fingers, making Stiles laugh.

“Okay, okay, fine.” Stiles drops his hands in his lap and glances up at the ceiling, admitting defeat. “I feel it on my lips.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Oh my god! I made you a ring so that you can kiss me when we’re apart! Happy?”

“Extremely so,” Peter says. “Appropriately sappy.”

The embarrassment bleeds out of Stiles, burning heat shifting into pleasant warmth. “Yeah, well.” He glances back at Peter, relaxing into his lap. He lifts one shoulder in a shrug and plays with the hem of Peter’s shirt. “Don’t tell my wives.”

“Oh, I’m definitely telling them you proposed to me.”

“I didn’t propose,” Stiles says. “We don’t need to be married. I love you. You love me. We’re going to be together forever.”

Peter nods seriously. “You’re just greedy for kisses when I’m at the grocery store.”

“Exactly.”

“It’s not because you want other humans to know I’m taken.”

“Nope.”

“And this wasn’t a test to see how I’d react to a ring.”

“Not at all.”

“Our rock has been in your experiments station.”

“That sure is an observation.”

“So, you made me a ring out of cheap metal,” Peter says, “instead of making us rings from our rock?”

“You can get rid of cheap metal.”

Peter lets go of Stiles’ hips, allowing Stiles the freedom to clamber off his lap if he wants. Stiles doesn’t so much as wiggle. Peter places one hand on the back of Stiles’ neck and with the other he presses his fingers under Stiles’ chin. He patiently waits for Stiles to stop playing with his shirt and meet his gaze.

Peter’s eyes are human blue, soft and only gleaming with mild mischief. “Hello,” he says.

Stiles lips tug up. “Hi.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Stiles says. He smiles and asks, “Would you like a ring from our rock?

Peter kisses him sweetly, a simple press of lips on lips. “Only if you make it so I’ll feel your ring-kiss on my lips, too. I get lonely when you go out to restock your magic supplies.”

“Wow, that’s embarrassing.”

“Says my little tomato.”

“Shut up, third wife,” Stiles says and kisses the smirk off Peter’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was blown away with everyone's wonderful comments!! Thank you so much! <3 I kind of ramble in my tags on tumblr and someone said I should share so here is my nonsense bonus thoughts on this story:
> 
> for the first chapter:  
> #peter: remus lupin is RIGHT THERE. not that i want a harry potter name but PETTIGREW?? are u fucking w me#stiles: >:) u wish i was fucking w u. but u give off zero lupin vibes dude#peter: u better not be implying i have pettigrew vibes. hes a COWARD#stiles: no no dont worry bro. u give off rat vibes#stiles: also u have the same first name so. good logic#peter: *blurry red angry yoda.png*#oh sweet peter riding the high of his short life as priority#stiles: just to clarify u do not give off The Rock's vibes. u r too lame for that. im just going to b insufferable about rock jokes 4ever#lydia is right stiles' humor never improves and rock hard is his new favorite phrase#when they move in together stiles gets the 5 week craving for food and peter is like we LIVE together i am CONSTANTLY feeding u and stiles#is like ok asshole its ur fault for conditioning me first of all and second of all im having some kind of withdrawal so fix it#pls sign stiles' petition to be knighted as a Jock Wife. every signature counts#he did not suffer through lax for him to not be recognized#the changes in the wives chat group name is fantastic#stiles: Three Wives One Brain Cell#lydia changing it: Two Braincells One Stiles#why queen apeshit u may ask. allison looks so sweet at first but no she is Arent You Tired Of Being Nice? Don't You Want To Go Apeshit?#and she DID#stiles took allison and lydia's phones and changed it from stiles to Favorite Wife#lydia changed it to flannel wife when stiles kept hacking back into it to keep her from having boring stiles#allison just added a clown emoji to fav wife#peter has him as darling boy ofc#they make a group chat w peter and it's named murder quartet#(stiles tries to change it to Jocks & Scandals)
> 
> for this chapter:  
> #stile b4 they get together *is the biggest tease* *smirky mcSmirktown* *shamelessly flirts and loves peter*#stiles kissing peter’s cheek after a date which is nothing new but for some reason stiles feels really warm?? is it really hot in here??#peter: are u blushing#stiles: um no thats ridiculous *turns into a tomato*#peter: This Is The Greatest Thing To Exist. No One Bother Me I Don’t Care About Anything But This#this is the first time stiles has called peter Third Wife and if peter had magic all the lights in the house would burst#stiles: 😎 i see right thru peter#peter *sees right thru stiles*#stiles: no!!!!! DO NOT PERCEIVE ME!! i am UNKNOWN#allydia: this our wife stiles and thats stiles’ wife peter#stiles hacks ally and lydias phones to change to Stiles’ wife when they type peter#stiles: i wonder if my boyfriend who waited 10 yrs to be with me and sort of manipulatively courted me would like a wedding ring??? like#maybe thats too much commitment for him


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